


On the Correct Storage of Rutabagas

by hit_the_books



Series: Brrrrrr- SPN Coldest Hits [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Clueless Retail Staff, Cooking, Cooking Stew, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Houscon, Houscon 2016, Incorrect Storage of Rutabagas, Just not to Jensen and Misha, Kissing, Lessons in Vegetables, M/M, Oh Right - Sex Acts, Realistic Grocery Shopping, Rimming, Some of this Actually Happened, Supernatural Convention, The Glitter Did Happen, The Reality In This Fiction Still Pains Me, There Really Were No Refrigerators Available, Valentine's Day, Vegetables, Vegetables Used As Dildos, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 11:02:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6236119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OH, WHAT A DAY!</p><p>It's Valentine's Day 2016 and it just happens to be the Salute to Supernatural convention in Houston, Texas.</p><p>Misha has big plans for Jensen. BIG PLANS.</p><p>But first he'll need to hide half a kitchen in his hotel room; tackle clueless grocery store staff; deal with a disappointed Jensen when he realizes there's no drinks in his mini-fridge; cook a stupendous stew in a slow cooker AND make sure that Jensen has a Happy Valentine's Day.</p><p>Some of this fiction is based in reality and on my own experiences of that fateful Valentine's Day during a convention weekend. A weekend where there were no refrigerators available for hotel guests staying in the Houscon convention hotel. If you are traumatized by a lack of fridges, then please, I beg of you: <strong>DO NOT READ THIS FIC.</strong></p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Correct Storage of Rutabagas

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the late Valentine's Day fic you were probably least expecting.
> 
> Beef and bacon stew recipe available on request.

Night has settled across the city of Houston. In three hours, midnight would soon be upon this slice of Texas.

And it would be Valentine’s Day. Misha couldn’t believe the luck he’d had in not only bringing a slow cooker with him to the Hilton Houston North hotel, but a set of knives and chopping boards, plus a hot plate, frying pan, spatula, ladle, cooking oil--everything he could possibly need! Including an apron, bowls and spoons.

He was going to cook Jensen the meal he deserved for Valentine’s Day. Oh yes.

But first he needed ingredients.

Driving over to a nearby Kroger, Misha hopes their fresh produce section will be well stocked. And when he is finally looking upon it, shades covering his eyes, baseball cap upon his head: Misha nods to himself.

The selection will do.

Pushing his cart with a spring in his step, Misha grabs a small sack of red skinned potatoes and then walks over to the long, chilled shelving unit that holds much of the produce. A mister springs down and sprays the vegetables housed in the unit.

Frowning, Misha waits for the mister to finish and then begins to search for what else he needs.

Stew is on the menu. A big hearty stew for Misha’s hearty man.

First he grabs a bunch of organic carrots, spotting them easily enough, and then Misha walks down the unit. He wants parsnips, leeks and a rutabaga. Almost mistaking some daikon for parsnips, Misha grabs several parsnips and puts them in his cart.

But where are the rutabagas?

Scanning the unit, the mister coming down and up once more, Misha finally comes to a stop by one section, eyes fixed on the bottom row of the unit. There, mouldering away because the mister is obviously fucking them up, are the rutabagas.

A lone tear works its way from Misha’s right eye and slides down his cheek. He’s never seen such poorly stored vegetables before.

The rutabagas are rotting where they sit. Sniffling and looking around for an alternative, Misha spots some white turnips, grown larger than their pre-GM size. They will have to do.

Spotting the leeks near by, Misha grabs two and then pushes his cart to the back of the store and to the fresh meat. Finding stewing steak proves far easier than tracking down his rutabaga. Picking a lean cut, Misha then tracks down some smoked, streaky bacon to add further flavor.

Now the seasonings. Shuffling off to his final stop, Misha picks up some pre-done stew sachets. He would have made the stock and gravy from scratch, but he feared there wouldn’t be enough time during the final day of Houscon 2016. But he won’t be without sage and grabs a small bottle of the dried herb along with some pre-ground black pepper and sea salt.

Pushing his items to the only open teller at this time of night, Misha loads the food onto the conveyor belt. The teller is working as fast as she can. He waits behind an old woman who has insisted on carrying her lapdog around with her while she shops. The dog looks at Misha and barks before trying to wag its bag confined tail.

“Oh Fido, sssssh!” The old woman demands of the dog before finally paying for her bagged up groceries and making her way out of the store.

Misha takes the accustomed spot in front of the teller and allows her to scan his items and for her older, male colleague to bag them. The meat and seasoning go through fine, and so does the pre-labeled carrots and potatoes…

And then the teller reaches the leeks.

“Uh, what are these?” the teller asks, looking at the cylinder that lists all their loose produce.

“Those are leeks,” Misha answers in a calm voice.

“Okay, thanks.” The teller puts the leeks through and then picks up the parsnips. “And these?”

Misha, having grown up on a lot of homely cooking as a child looks at the teller, unable to quite hide is aghast expression. How can she not know?

“Those are parsnips.”

“Par-snips, okay.” The teller finds the vegetables and puts them through. “And this?” She holds up the large, white turnip.

“A turnip,” Misha answers, trying to hide his surprise and exasperation.

“Right.” The teller puts the turnips through. “Okay, well that comes to $25.36.”

Misha pays for his groceries and starts heading towards the door. He spots the night manager half-snoozing at his desk, badge askew. If the staff didn’t know what half his purchases were, Misha realizes they may not know about the rutabagas.

“Excuse me,” Misha calls to the night manager, Bret, as he stands in front of his desk. “Bret, your rutabagas are being incorrectly stored in the fresh produce. Keeping them chilled and misted is causing them to rot. You need to store them near your potatoes.”

Bret seems to not quite believe that someone is talking to him and that it’s about some kind of vegetable. Misha restrains himself from clicking his fingers in front of Bret’s stunned face.

“The rutabagas, Bret.”

“R-r-right. Well, I’m just the night manager. But I’ll talk to the manager about it in the morning.”

Misha doesn’t believe him. “You better, because currently you have rotting vegetables on display. No one wants to buy a mouldy rutabaga, Bret, no one. You better have that talk.”

“Su-re. Of course,” Bret replies, now looking more scared than surprised.

Misha rolls his eyes behind his glasses and pushes his cart out of the store. At least he’d still be able to surprise Jensen.

***

Having the only room fridge in the entire hotel--if the angry hushed conversations of the other guests, he’s previously overheard, are anything to go by--Misha stores his purchases and settles down for the night. He plans on getting up at roughly 5am so that he can prepare the stew before heading out of his room. He had photo ops to do during the final day and more.

A text wakes him up at 4:30am on the Sunday. Misha checks his cell.

And there it is. Jensen texting him, thinking it’s okay to wake him right now.

The message reads: _In hotel. Heading up to your room now. Rich told me where you are x_

Of course Rich did.

There’s a knock at his door. A dishevelled and all messed up hair Misha crawls out of his bed and takes a look through the spyhole. Yep, it’s Jensen.

Taking a breath, allowing the excitement that’s been building for hours to finally show, Misha yanks his door open and beams at Jensen for all of two seconds before grabbing him by the front of his shirt and dragging him in. It’s Valentine’s Day and Jensen is in his room.

It’s Valentine’s Day and Misha doesn’t care that he’s kicking his door closed at 4:33am and pushing Jen up against a wall and pillaging his mouth loudly and wantonly. There’s no way their moans are going unheard.

Needing air, Misha pulls away from Jensen and flops down onto his bed, patting a spot beside him for Jen to sit down. But Jen has caught sight of his mini kitchen that he’s assembled.

“DUDE! You have a refrigerator! NO ONE’S GOT REFRIGERATORS!” Jensen half squeals and goes into find something to drink, and is instead surprised by the contents.

Silence settles.

“Um,” Misha starts, “I wanted to do something for you for Valentine’s Day.”

Jensen stands up and looks over at Misha, a surprised smile on his face. “You were… you were going to cook for me?”

Misha nods.

“Mish… this is…” Jensen lunges at Misha and pushes him down to the bed, covering his face with kisses and nipping at his ears and neck.

Panting and moaning, the lines of their cocks rubbing together, Jensen reaches down between the two of them so that he can free them. Getting both of their cocks in hand, he drizzles spit between them and begins to eagerly fist them together.

“My guy is gonna…” Jensen moans. “Cook for me.”

Breaths coming hot and fast, Misha pushes up a little and kisses Jensen as he fists them together. “Gonna cook you beef and bacon stew.”

They’re just words, but Jensen’s hand moves faster and faster. Pressure building fast, Misha doesn’t get to give Jensen much warning as he comes, with Jen quickly following him.

Collapsing onto the bed, Jensen rolls off of Misha so they can both catch their breath.

“You wanna get some sleep?” Jensen asks Misha as they remain on the bed.

“No, need to get your meal started.”Misha pushes off the bed and goes to wash his hands in the bathroom. There was much to do.

***

Leaving the beef and bacon (now chopped) to brown in a frying pan with the sliced leeks, Misha manages to make quick work of peeling and chopping two parsnips and the turnip. He leaves the skins on the carrots and potatoes, opting to just chop them.

Jensen watches that part with wry amusement. “Hey, Mish, you forgot to peel the potatoes and the carrots.”

Shaking his head, Misha doesn’t look up from his work. “By leaving the very edible skins on those, I am helping to preserve some of their nutrition and providing us… roughage.”

Jensen laughs. “Okay, whatever you say Mish.”

Soon enough the meat is browned and in the slow cooker with the vegetables, mixed up stew sachets, water and seasoning. Putting the lid on Misha wipes his hands down his apron, satisfied that the low setting will mean that their stew will be ready for around lunch.

Just as he starts to tidy a few last things away, Misha notices that Jensen is standing beside him and holding a parsnip that Misha had decided not to use. Including that one, unpeeled, unchopped parsnip would have meant the slow cooker would have been too full.

“What is this?” Jensen asks, eyeing the off-white root vegetable with apparent keen interest.

“That’s a parsnip,” Misha answers and his entire experience at Kroger comes flooding back to him. But a wicked idea does also form.

“Parsnip… okay.” Jensen goes to put the vegetable down, but Misha seizes it instead.

“Bed, now,” Misha demands.

Jensen raises his eyebrows in mock surprise and lays out on Misha’s bed.

“Strip.” Misha can see his order go straight to Jensen’s dick. Before Jen can finish undressing, Misha has removed his own clothes and is stalking over to the bed, parsnip and a bottle of lube in hand.

Climbing up onto his bed, Misha notes the nervous glance Jensen gives the parsnip.

“Say, is that… is that going where I think it is?”

Smiling and kissing Jensen chastely on the cheek, not that there’s really anything chaste about it, Misha replies, “Oh it most certainly is.”

Putting the root vegetable to one side, Misha buries himself between Jensen’s legs and licks his lover’s hole. Pushing his tongue into Jensen’s tight heat, Misha doesn’t wait long before swapping it for his lubed up index finger and works Jensen open. Stroking Jensen’s hard cock with his free hand, it doesn’t take Misha long to work more fingers in and really open Jensen up.

Kneeling back from his handiwork, Misha finally takes in the breathless, groaning mess he’s created. Jensen’s cock is leaking against his stomach and his cheeks are red and flushed.

Leaning over, Misha picks up the unused parsnip and begins to coat it in lube. The vegetable is long, thicker than most carrots, with its width tapering off from wide to narrow more dramatically than carrots. Working up to Jensen’s mouth, Misha kisses his lover sweetly and then begins to push the parsnip, up inside of him.

“FUCK!” Cries Jensen as he begins to feel the stretch, and then his mouth is greedily on Misha’s. Sucking and licking. His ass pushing down onto the pale mass disappearing between his legs.

The second it makes it to Jensen’s prostate, Misha is kinda glad their mouths are together, so that Jensen’s scream is muffled. Wrist working tirelessly, Misha starts slow, picking up speed as he rams the parsnip in and out of Jensen’s asshole.

Breaking away from their kissing, Jensen buries his face in Misha’s shoulder and whimpers and cries, hips working with Misha’s wrist, hands staying away from his cock. A shiver runs down Misha’s spine as he realizes that Jen is determined to come on just the parsnip.

Rocketing the vegetable back and forth even faster, Misha hopes to make this happen sooner rather than later, rubbing his own length against Jensen’s bucking hips. Teeth marks are left on Misha’s shoulder as Jensen physically and vocally shows his pleasure.

And then Jensen’s body goes completely still for a split second before finally a shout escapes the confines of Jen’s mouth and Misha’s shoulder. Jen’s hips bucking harder and his cock pulsing wet, thick streams of come onto his belly. Seeing, feeling the pleasure of his lover, a few more short sharp drags of his cock against Jensen sends Misha over the edge.

“FUUUUUCK!” He yells.

Maybe five minutes past before either of them manages to come to their senses. The parsnip plops out of Jensen the second he shifts. Jensen rolls on top of Misha and smiles at him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Jensen says softly, kissing Misha’s cheeks.

“Happy Valentine’s Day to you too.”

***

The morning panels and photos go fine. Though Rich almost kills Jensen over getting glitter all over his Valentine’s Day card. When it’s finally lunch, Misha and Jensen close themselves up in Misha’s delicious smelling room, which smells of food rather than sex, and they finally eat the beef and bacon stew.

“Gotta say... these parsnip... things taste... as good as they feel.” Jensen smirks.

Misha rolls his eyes and eats another spoonful of stew from his bowl. “I just wish I could have used a rutabaga as well,” he sighs.

“Rutabaga?” Jensen quirks an eyebrow.

“Some people call them a swede. Round, root vegetable. They’re purple, yellow and green on their skin, yellow on the inside and incredibly sweet,” Misha describes, voice distant like he’s talking about some long lost lover. “I would have used just the one.”

“Why didn’t you?” Jensen eats another spoonful of the hot stew.

“The grocery store were keeping them incorrectly and they had gone all mouldy,” Misha explains, anger beginning to show. “I tried to explain this to the night manager, but he didn’t care.”

“I’m sorry to hear that… still, the stew does taste really good.”

“Thank you.”

Jensen turns to Misha and kisses him appreciatively on his lips. “We’ll have to make this again sometime,” says Jensen, the double meaning clear to Misha the moment Jensen gives him a wink.

**Author's Note:**

> Why is this my first ever RPF? Reasons.
> 
>  
> 
> <http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/post/139476843265/march-rules-reblog-this-post-to-enter-your-fic>


End file.
